AN: 

Surprise! An update for you all! I am so close to being done with this story! I cannot wait to enter it in the Wattys! I am so excited just to have this printed out in my hand (lol, 150 pages are currently in my binder) 

Please leave me a like and comment! and follow me on instagram at AuthorJuneValentine

Marjorie flung forward from the mattress and inhaled full gulps of air. Her chest stung as though she had just been pulled from the bottom of a river, and her lungs were weighed down by freshwater and sandy gravel. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, proving that she drifted off to sleep and allowed the world to be swallowed whole by darkness.

"It was..." she heaved in a breath. She fumbled for the match on the bedside table. She needed light to think, to see. "It was just a dream. Sicily, it was just a horrible, terrible—"

She struck the match and pressed the burning tip to the wick of the long, skinny wax candle mounted to the wall.

Marjorie froze as flickering, golden light enveloped her corner of the room.

Just like her dream, her Grandmother was frozen where she lay. Her right hand slumped at an awkward angle and her jaw was slack, allowing her lips to part with an uncomfortable distance. Marjorie didn't have to hold her hand above her nose and test Sicily's breath to know that the old woman was dead.

She peered around the room, searching for any signs of Cedar but found nothing but silence. Although it was a dream, she knew he told the truth. The veil was thin.

She would join her grandmother soon. She would die tonight.

For half a second, she wondered what would happen if she returned back to the mattress and allowed herself to drift into a long slumber beside Sicily. Would she appear as a granddaughter in mourning, refusing to leave Sicily's bedside even in death? Or would she never wake, like Cedar warned?

Or, she thought, would the Wolf do what he always did—would he kill as I sleep?

Marjorie exploded into motion, suddenly aware that if Cedar was right— if she was meant to bring balance— Fenris must take a life tonight.

She stood up from the bed and reached for the candle. Now with it in her hand, the flame followed her movement and illuminated different corners of the room. Her feet slid onto the ground below. Like always, the wooden boards creaked with her weight.

She rushed toward the exit of her Grandmother's room, only to be abruptly stopped by a figure sitting in the corner, watching her with solemn, brown eyes.

"Petyr!" Marjorie gasped, half out of surprise, the other from relief. He was alive. Fenris hadn't killed him, or at least, not yet. "How long—how long have you been there?"

"Does it matter?" the young man asked. He sat with his arms crossed and his long legs bent beneath him. In his hand, he held a stick for prodding fire, always ready to keep Marjorie warm.

"I—I guess not," she admitted. "My Grandmother, she is—" Marjorie wasn't ready to admit it out loud. Instead, she trailed off, unable to match the cool intensity of Petyr's gaze.

"I am sorry," he whispered, regret crossing over his handsome face for only a moment. "We need to talk, Marjorie." At his words, an unkind steely expression appeared.

She froze, unsure of his sudden change of mood.

"I know," he said, before she could speak again.

"About what?" Marjorie asked. She set the candle on a brass dock above his head, allowing her hands freedom. Marjorie slid down on the ground beside the Woodsman. Even through the thick fabric of her dress skirt, she could feel the coldness of the wood climb through the fabric. She ignored it and rested the tip of her chin on his knee.

"Do not play dumb, Marjorie," he whispered. His right hand trailed down to the bottom of her jaw. There, he gingerly coaxed her eyes up, until she stared into his steady, dark gaze. "If I don't die tonight, you will instead—"

She flung herself out of his grasp and stood on shaking legs.

"How—" she paused. "How did you know?"

"The Wolf," Petyr revealed. He shrugged his broad shoulders, as if he didn't care that his fate could be nothing more than a Wolf pulling his spine out through his soft belly. "He said you would die if not."

"You are not dying in place of me, Petyr," she said, her voice steadily growing in volume. A tightness formed in her throat—proving it would only take a handful of seconds before a sob racked through her chest. "I will not allow it."

Her shout reverberated off of the wall, acting as a blaring siren for Fenris. The curtains separating her Grandmother's bedroom from the den were suddenly pushed apart. The orange light of the other room seeped into every dark corner of the bedroom. In the threshold of the entrance, Fenris stood, now wearing a simple linen tunic and a pair of dark, loose trousers. Both were oversized, likely pieces of Cedar's old wardrobe.

The fire from the den casted the front of his body in dark shadow, turning him into nothing but a man made out of pure shadow. His eyes glowed in the dimness, reminiscent of his true beastly nature.

He was a predator. Marjorie was stupid to have forgotten that.

"I see you are awake," Fenris said. "Did you sleep well?"

Anger took over the young woman's body. Before she could stop herself, emotion overtook her completely, rushing her toward where he stood. She pulled both of her hands above her head, and then, thrusted them forward with a shrill scream.

He caught both of her wrists with one hand. She stared at him, eyes wide in shock at the sudden roughness, but helpless to move away. Before she could object, he pulled her flush against him until they both stood chest to chest. She wondered if he could feel her heart beating erratically against her ribcage. She could feel his.

He must like being near her—like being this close to her, with her hair just beneath his nose and her body pressed into his.

"Can we play nice?" Fenris asked.

"Is that what you did with my Mother?" Marjorie screamed. "Played nice as you ripped her throat out?"

"Do you like rubbing dirt in open wounds, Marjorie?" Fenris said through tight, gritted teeth. "Or do you simply have a tendency for sadism?"

She spit.

It landed across his face.

He blinked once, twice and then, brought his free hand over his cheek and wiped it calmly away.

"I deserved that," Fenris admitted in a whisper.

"You have killed my Mother, now you must kill my Petyr?" she asked. "I will kill myself before I allow that to happen."

"No, you will not," Petyr announced from behind her struggling body. "The whole point of me dying is so that you have a chance to live another day."

"What happened to sticking together?" Marjorie rushed out, unshed tears blurring her vision as she turned to look at him. "What happened to staying by my side? You cannot do that if you are dead."

"The Wolf happened," Petyr replied. "I have accepted my fate, Marjorie. Why cannot you not just let it be?"

Marjorie scowled at his words and stomped her feet on the wooden floor. Fate. She hated the word. Stupid, pointless, fickle fate. It seemed to be laughing at her, damaging her life irrevocably within the span of one, short night.

"I—" she stuttered. Her words were abruptly stolen from her. A sob escaped through her parted, chapped lips. "I—I fear Petyr, I cannot—I will not survive another loss. I am selfish. I am more selfish than you. And Fenris" – she pressed her head into the warm curve of his shoulder— "Fenris, I am sorry. I want to be your hero. I want to help you. But I cannot do this. I am just—I am just one girl. I once believed I wanted to live in a world past this village, deep in Beyond, but now I understand. I do not hunger for the ocean or the castles or the kings. I want Petyr. And I want my Grandmother. And if I cannot have either one, I will settle with it ending here."

"Marjorie—" Petyr's hand wrapped around her shoulder. His thumb rolled over where the sleeve of her dress slipped, touching bare skin. Unlike Cedar, he was warm— alive.

He still had a chance.

"No," she interjected the Woodsman. "Tonight it ends. Tonight, no more lives will be taken. Fenris, will you please look at me?"

There was no need for her to ask. His steady gaze snapped to her, always willing to follow her no matter where she wandered.

He tilted his head up in silent question.

"Will you let me die tonight?"

A rumbling came forth from his chest, turning the air still. There was anger trapped between his clenching jaws.

After his growl died down into a gentle thrum, he nodded. "If that is what you truly wish." He released her wrists, allowing her to go.

Instead of turning on the heels of her boots and running, she pushed herself against the Wolf. Her soft arms wrapped tightly around his neck, where her fingers easily disappeared beneath his wild hair.

Fenris forgot how to place his hands. He glided his palms over her shoulders until slowly, with a touch too tender for a Wolf, he grasped her by the small of her waist. He pulled her into him, until their bodies turned into one seamless line of fabric and skin.

She allowed herself this short-lived luxury. Soon, she would not be here to drag her fingers over warm skin or feel his own carefully glide over her spine.

She closed her eyes tight, until muddied splotches of black, blue and red played behind her lids.

Tonight, Marjorie was dying.  

AN: 

Ahhhh! What do you think? 

PS, I'm giving you a back-to-back update because my friend said it was too cruel leave you guys on a cliff hanger :P